Psych'd
by JensenAckles13
Summary: Dean and Sam meet Shawn in Gus in an epic battle of wits- but things get tricky when Shawn figures out they aren't real FBI agents. With a killer still on the loose- a deadly spirit or a deranged psychopath- they have alot to work out
1. Chapter 1

Dean tugged at his tie, tightening it and then loosening it, glaring at himself in the mirror. Damn, he really did hate these things. He coasted to a stop outside the crime scene, a farm house at the cross streets of Middle Of and Nowhere. Sam snorted and shoved his arm.

"Dude, stop fidgeting. You're gonna scare the cows," his little brother said as he dug through the glove box for their fake badges.

"Cows? Sammy-boy, I think you're goin' a _little _crazy….WHAT THE HELL?!" He scrambled back from the window when he saw a big, black and white head and a crazy long tongue lapping at the glass of his baby. He let out a colorful string of curses that would've had Bonnie and Clyde blushing and Sam just laughed to himself, making his way out of the car. Dean quickly crawled out the passenger door, giving the damn cow a death glare, mentally threatening to rip its tongue off and beat it to death with it. He took his badge from Sam, fixed his crooked jacket, and closed the door, making his way confidently to the house. It was a little thing, one story, and a small porch with a beaten up rocking chair on it. He sighed and lifted up the yellow crime scene tape, stepping under and moving to who he assumed was the head detective, a tall, lanky man with short buzz cut hair and a serious, nothing but business, 'I wear the same tie everyday' look. The man looked him over with skeptical eyes.

"I'm Agent Bonham, this is Agent Page. FBI." He held up his badge to the grumpy detective, who mumbled something under his breath but nodded.

"Alright. This is one Terry White, approximately forty two years of age, strangled to death. No prints, no signs of forced entry. She's clean," the man said. Dean nodded, then made his way around the small house. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. He could hear Sam asking about yellow powder anywhere, or any strange temperature drops, but before he could turn to hear the answer, the door burst open and in came two men, one a black man in a purple striped shirt, the other wearing a simple green sweatshirt and had his eyes closed. The one in the green was stumbling about like a drunk man, and Dean immediately felt the urge to punch him in the face. He shared a look with Sam across the room before turning his attention to the visitors.

"I see….cows. And grass and corn and….oh dear me, what could it be…..A BODY!" The man cried before pulling open one eye, and then the other. "Hm. Well. What have we got here, Lassie? FBI taking over your case again?" The green sweatshirt man turned to face Dean. "Ah, yes, you've got a nice car out there."

"Yeah, she- wait, how do you know she's mine?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Oh, right, 'scuze me. I am head psychic for the Santa Barbra Police Department. My name's Shawn, and this is my partner, Donut Holstien," Shawn said, pointing to his buddy, who raised a hand in greeting. Dean stared between the two.

"Spencer, why am I not surprised?" the detective, apparently named Lassie, asked, hands on his hips.

"Should you be surprised? Oh, I love surprises," Shawn said, grinning around at everyone. Dean looked at Sam again, conveying his silent 'this guy is a looney' message before looking back to Shawn.

"Yes, well, Shawn, this is an official FBI case and you are distracting us from our work so if you do not shut up I will have my partner escort you off the premises," he said, nodding to Sam. Shawn's eyes followed his movement and he looked up at Sam, who was standing with his arms crossed and his lips in a thin line, amusement sparkling in his eyes, before shrugging.

"Sure, dude, whatever you say. Though, I just assumed you'd want to know this woman was murdered."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stared at Shawn like he'd just grown a second head. "Murdered?" Dean repeated, sharing a look across the room, but this time it was a 'crap, I bet this guy is the killer' look. "Yes, Zoolander. Muuuuuurderrrrrred…" Shawn drew the word out slowly, as if Dean needed help comprehending it. Dean narrowed his eyes. "Shawn, you're gonna get yourself kicked outta here," the black man piped in, his hands in his pockets. "But, Gus, I just told them everything they're too blind to see. I just told them this guy was murdered," Shawn looked to Lassie. "Isn't that enough to start an investigation?" "Of what, Spencer? There's nothing to investigate. And since when have I ever gone with one of your crazy little 'psychic hunches'? You guess five different times before you- pure luck, might I add- get it right. McNab!" A cop towering a couple inches above Sam- impressive in itself- came a-running looking like a scolded puppy. "Uh, yeah, detective?" McNab answered. "Get them out of here. We have real police work to do," Lassie said, scowling at Shawn. McNab turned to Shawn and Gus. "Sorry, guys," he said before escorting the two out. "Good riddance," Dean mumbled under his breath before pulling out his EMF and making his way around the house while Sam kept the detective busy. As soon as Dean got to the fireplace, it began beeping wildly, red lights flashing. Dean blinked and pulled it away before anyone could hear. But he saw Sam's eyes on him over the detectives shoulder and he nodded ever so slightly. "Vengeful spirit," Dean mouthed. Sam tiled his chin down in affirmative. Dean made his way back over to his brother as Sam said, seeming to have repeated this multiple times, "I told you, detective. It's black. Black. There is no other color that looks like this." Sam tugged at his suit jacket and Dean raised a brow. The detective scowled. "Right…..could I see your badge a moment? I just want to see if it has one of those federal-" "I think were done here," Dean said, cutting Lassie off. Lassie. What the hell kind of name was that? The detective wasn't a dog. He took Sam's arm and led him away from the detective before he could utter another word. "Come to talk to me?" Shawn said, smirking from outside the yellow crime scene tape. "You just got yourself kicked out, genius. I don't think we need to talk to you about anything," Dean snapped, moving to go around Shawn. Shawn stuck his arm out, right into Dean's chest, stopping him. "Oh, come on, give it a try. It won't hurt. You know you want to, just as much as Gus wants to dance the polka with your friend there, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows and Gus glowered at Shawn and elbowed him hard. "OW!" Shawn yelled, rubbing his arm. "Well," Gus replied, smirking. Shawn elbowed him back. "Dammit, Shawn!" Gus said before punching Shawn's arm. This went on for a solid five minutes, Gus ending up winning because he hit Shawn in the stomach. "Gus! You cheated," Shawn pouted. "Well, Shawn, suck it," Shawn clicked his tongue. "Man…." He said. Dean sighed. "Are we done here?" he asked. Shawn snorted. "No. I know you know something that I don't know. I know….you know." 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean narrowed his eyes at Shawn, and Gus just looked absolutely done with everything, hands on his hips, an irritated look on his face. "You want the truth?" Dean asked after a tense, lengthy silence. Shawn rolled his eyes. "Uh-Duh," Shawn said. A small smirk tipped the corners of Dean's lips. "Alright, fine. Our friend Terry in there wasn't murdered by a person. She was murdered by a ghost." There was another long pause in which Shawn laughed and Gus's eyes widened. It was Gus who spoke next. "Ghost? Really? Alright, we're taking the case!" Shawn turned to look at Gus and they had some intense whispering battle before Shawn clicked his tongue and said "mannnnnn" before turning back to Dean. "We already have the case, guys," Sam said, looking between Shawn and Gus with a barely hidden 'they're on drugs' look. "You guys said you were FBI, right?" Shawn asked suddenly. "Yeah, why?" Dean asked cautiously. "Can I see your badges?" Shawn asked. Dean rolled his eyes but held up his badge. Shawn took it straight from his hand, very thoroughly examining it. Dean felt a pang of worry, but knew their badges were next to the best. "Oh dear. LASSSIIIIIIIEEEEE!" Shawn yelled. Lassie came walking slowly out, hands on his hips. "What is it, Spencer? I don't have time for your shenanigans," Lassie said irritably. "I-I'm getting paper," Shawn said, holding a hand to his head. "And ink and cameras and oh god! These are forgeries!" Dean tightened and loosened his tie. "Excuse me?" he said with a raised brow. Lassie stepped forward, ripping the badge from Shawn's hand before examining it carefully. "He's right. Serial number is off. McNab! Get over here and cuff this one, would you?" Lassie said, nodding to Dean, clearly 'knowing' Dean was the easier target because Sam was much bigger. God damn Sasquatch. Dean and Sam shared a look, Sam's being 'don't you idiot' and Dean's being 'I'm going for it' before Dean abruptly spun and rammed an open palm into the taller-than-Sammy man coming to cuff him. McNab stumbled back, a hand pressed to his newly broken nose, before he yanked McNab's gun from his holster. "Sorry, kid," Dean breathed into the young officer's ear before he shoved him away and was tackled by another cop. He jumped up, kicking the man hard in the groin. The man doubled over. Shawn and Gus both dove at him, Gus going for his legs and Shawn going for anything he could reach. Dean send a rough boot to Gus's stomach and Gus let out a noise that sounded like a dying cat. I've been waiting for this, Dean thought as he rammed a fist into Shawn's jaw. Shawn stumbled back with a groan. And then Dean heard the familiar click and pull of a trigger and a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder. "Sonuva…." he growled out. A hand going up to his profusely bleeding shoulder. "On your knees!" Lassie said in a voice that held as much authority as Dean's had. When Dean didn't immediately do so, mostly because he was far more focused on the exploding pain from the wound in his shoulder, the detective yelled, "Do it now!", keeping his gun trained on Dean. Dean raised one arm in surrender, keeping the injured tucked close to his chest. He looked over to see why Sam hadn't helped and saw his younger brother pinned to a black and white with cuffs on his wrists, a bleeding nose and a split lip, eyes wide and worried. "Dean?" Sam asked worriedly. "M'good, Sammy," Dean mumbled. And then his hands were being tugged behind his back, sending another wave of nauseating pain through his shoulder. He felt the cool cuffs slap onto his wrists before he was hauled to his feet and shoved into the squad car, Sam being shoved in soon after him. Sam maneuvered his body so he could press his hands to Dean's still bleeding shoulder, tying to staunch the bleeding. Dean let out a choked gasp, clenching his jaw tightly. "Don't be such a wuss," Sam said lightheartedly, but worry was still heavy in his voice. "Shuddup," Dean mumbled. The squad car started up and they were soon on their way to the Santa Barbra police station. 


End file.
